This summer, millions of people from across the globe gathered around television screens and packed into stadiums. They draped themselves in flags, sang national anthems aloud, and embraced complete strangers in moments of celebration and disappointment. For a few weeks, the world felt a little smaller.
I found it fascinating that a football tournament could bring so many people together. Surely it wasn’t just about the sport. Many of the people watching, myself included, were not avid football fans. Yet something about it resonated across cultures, languages, and borders.
As the World Cup continued, I embarked on an Inspire trip to Bosnia & Herzegovina (BiH) with Islamic Relief Canada (IRC). On this journey, I expected to learn about humanitarian work, about the history of BiH, and about its people. Those expectations were certainly met, but the lessons that struck me most deeply were the ones I had not anticipated.
One of our responsibilities as Inspire volunteers was to facilitate a summer camp for orphaned children in Sarajevo. On the first day of camp, I made my way down the school steps with a knot in my stomach, hoping that I could offer something meaningful to the children I was about to meet.
The children soon came running into the courtyard. Within moments, two girls had taken my hands, and I was introducing myself as they smiled up at me.
Over the course of the week, we led activities, played games, and shared laughter and joy. Along the way, the children patiently taught us Bosnian words, shared their interests, and asked questions of their own. I had arrived thinking carefully about what I hoped to offer, but in the end the thing that mattered most was much simpler: the time we shared.
Another part of our trip involved spending an afternoon at a youth rehabilitation centre that provides support for those who are unable to safely remain at home. We delivered some food packages, took a tour of the facility, and then sat together to share a traditional dinner of ćevapi. As the meal wrapped up, a football game between the residents and the Inspire volunteers began to take shape.
Everyone quickly embraced the competitive spirit, with plenty of cheering and chanting from the sidelines. Watching the match unfold, I saw once again how football could draw people together. Though there was a language barrier between us, the game provided another way to connect.
And then, all too quickly, our time together came to an end.
As we prepared to leave, we were sent off with a few parting words:
"Don't forget us."
After the time we shared, I couldn’t imagine forgetting them. Looking back now, I remember what we were told when we first arrived that day: visitors were rare. Taken together, it becomes a little clearer what was behind those final words. It also made me think more deeply about how much it can mean to show up and share space.
All across Sarajevo, there were reminders not to forget.
Murals. Banners. Graffiti.
In the days leading up to the anniversary of the Srebrenica Genocide, those reminders came into greater focus. People donned hand-woven flowers of remembrance for the 8,372 Bosniak men and boys who were murdered in July 1995. A funeral procession carrying the remains of 10 newly identified victims passed through Sarajevo on the way to their final resting place. At Jumu’ah, the khutbah also centred on the martyrs.
On Saturday, July 11th, we made our way to the memorial.
Despite multiple checkpoints and heavy police presence implemented by authorities in Republika Srpska, thousands of people had gathered. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed before.
Passing through the gates of the cemetery, rows of white gravestones immediately came into view. As I made my way through the grounds, the newly dug graves stood out from the thousands that surrounded them. Across from the cemetery was a large, worn industrial building: the factory where thousands of Bosniak civilians sought protection by the United Nations, which ultimately failed them.
In a place where the genocide continues to be denied, people were still showing up in the thousands more than 30 years later. To gather and to remember stand as a form of resistance to the erasure of the truth and of those who were lost.
During my time in Bosnia & Herzegovina, I became attentive to the ways in which community was woven into everyday life. I saw it in unhurried gatherings, generous hospitality, and the space that was held to share stories. None of these moments were particularly remarkable on their own, but together they drew my attention to something I often take for granted at home.
Here, we often speak about community as though it simply exists. We expect it to endure, even as we organize our lives such that there is little room left for it. But community has to be cultivated. The relationships between us are shaped quietly, over time, by our willingness to show up for one another.
And showing up is only part of it. We also have to be present once we do.
In Islam, we speak about ghaflah, a state of heedlessness in which one becomes inattentive to Allah SWT and His signs. That heedlessness can also shape the way we move through His creation. We can see without really witnessing, hear without listening, and become so accustomed to the people around us that we stop appreciating them.
This is particularly easy in a society so preoccupied with independence. We guard our time and space, organize our lives around our own responsibilities and comfort, and increasingly speak of the need to “protect our peace.” There is nothing inherently wrong with independence or boundaries, but we have failed to realize what our choices are costing us.
Perhaps this is what fascinated me about the World Cup in the first place. For a few weeks, millions of people made room to gather. They showed up. The tournament did not create our desire for connection, it simply made that desire difficult to miss.
But community cannot depend on extraordinary moments to draw us together. Most of the time, there will be no stadium filled with thousands of people or a humanitarian trip thousands of kilometres from home. There will simply be the people already around us.
For all the words I have shared here, I have barely begun to capture how meaningful my time in Bosnia & Herzegovina came to be. A deeper appreciation for human connection is only one aspect of what I carried home, and it has altered the way I think about the people and communities in my own life.
We do not always recognize the significance of the people with whom we share our days. Their presence can become so familiar that we lose sight of what we have in one another. The opportunities to show up for them are easily postponed. The relationships we assume will always be there quietly receive the scraps of our time and attention.
Returning to the routines, responsibilities, and distractions I left behind has therefore presented its own challenge. It is much easier for the extraordinary to command our attention than the familiar. What matters now is whether I can remain attentive when life is ordinary again.
I ask Allah SWT to place barakah in the relationships we already hold dear, grant us the wisdom to nurture them, and open our hearts to those whom we have yet to meet.
Ameen.
For Dr. Tarek, Br. Tufail, Br. Emir, Sr. Emina, Br. Mensur, Br. Majdi, Sr. Lina, my 20 co-Changemakers, the IR BiH and IRC teams, and the people of Bosnia & Herzegovina. I am incredibly grateful. Alhamdulillah.